My deepest secret turns twenty-two; Is no longer my secret

We met twenty-two years ago today. It was a serendipitous encounter. I should have never met you, but the universe had other plans.

I was covering for a colleague and signed your loan docs with you. From the moment our eyes met, I knew you would change my life. Our story is a long one, intertwined, complicated, ugly, messy, and beautiful.

I could never have known that you would give me my greatest joy and my happiest day on earth: my baby boy, Beau.

I could never have predicted that you would leave me too soon, unannounced. No one called. No one knew about us. Two months after your suicide, I found your obituary online.

I was looking for your cell phone number. I was looking forward to introducing you to your son, as we always said we would when he was older.

Through a series of events that are too long to write today, Beau decided it was time to meet your folks. Eleven days ago, I wrote the letter, enclosed a few photos, and sent it off with a prayer.

Six days ago, we got a phone call. Your mother did not know what to say. By the end of the call, we were set to meet the next day. One restless sleep and then we met your parents, his grandparents.

There was laughter, there were lots of stories. Mine were mostly confessions. Professions of my love and remorse.

Eight thousand thirty-six days. 48% of my lifetime has been spent bouncing between obsessing over you and trying to forget you. The latter is impossible. He looks so much like you.

The one thing your father said over and over and over when he met our son:

He looks like my boy. He looks like my boy. Yes, my lord, he surely does.